Bodies burn with yellow justice, <br />Or they have just been doing: doing doing, <br />And all of these songs are their offspring, <br />Just as there are so many people <br />Overspilling: <br />People, people: <br />The vines are ripened but the fruit is untouchable; <br />Their luscious bodies are guarded by submachine guns, <br />And the pipes are rusting; <br />And the crowd has really turned out to <br />See the girls curling on the sea; <br />Her bodies curling on the waves, and the way she ‘ <br />Has placed herself: <br />The greenness of her body’s green makes us slaves, <br />And we wish to touch ourselves like the finest <br />Instruments; <br />And the leafless bodies beneath us in the weaves, <br />Going with the gentleness that can never be thought; <br />And above our sea the transoms are opened <br />Like concessions for the bravest of our naves <br />Who might kick themselves high enough <br />On the swing, <br />To touch her curling waves, to kiss her brow; <br />And to see the keystone of her ways lavishing in the evaporated <br />Grottos of the waves, <br />The beautiful savior who can always save <br />The bravest of the braves.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-bravest-of-the-braves/
